


Provocatrix

by Dusty



Series: Conversations In The Car [20]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia hits a nerve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The new day arrived as they both slept, her hand still in his. 

James was up three hours later and heading to his mission debriefing with Mallory. Olivia on the other hand felt vaguely concussed and lay about in bed for the morning, feeling oddly like it was Christmas. She wouldn’t be seeing him again until nightfall, so she took the opportunity to become a domestic goddess, grateful at every step that she had a weekly cleaner to take the edge off.

She had one moment, at the kitchen sink, where she was overcome with the sickening idea she’d become ‘the little wife’ and was now homemaking for her man. She resolved to focus on the fantastic sex instead, and stubbornly refused to plump the sofa cushions.

She was replying to an email when he returned, and she gestured to him to sit down, enjoying giving the appearance of disinterest and busyness. She closed her laptop and looked at him. Impeccably dressed, three-piece suit and a boyish smile. He looked very pleased with himself.

“All done,” he beamed. “Fully debriefed and ready for a holiday."

“I take it your mission was a success?” she probed. “You look very smug.”

He fiddled with his tie. “Bar one or two hiccups, it was indeed highly successful.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “Does Mallory know about the hiccups?”

James’ smug smile vanished. “No,” he said, suddenly worried.

She chuckled at him. “Same old James,” she said fondly. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell on you. Whatever it was you did wrong.”

His eyes flashed at her before he settled in to a small pout.

She stood. “Can you tell me where you were?”

He gave a look of disapproval, then sighed. “Iran,” he answered quietly.

“Ah,” she said. “Fuck anyone while you were out there? I was delighted to find it wasn’t bitten off. Not even by a Persian prostitute.”

His mouth fell open. He stared at her. “I take it that was your main concern?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes gleamed.

“Well, I don’t pay for it,” said James, a note of impatience in his voice.

“No. I don’t expect you do.” She was studying him. He was avoiding her eyes. “So did you?”

“Did I what?” he asked sharply.

“Fuck anyone? Pump them for information. Just curious.”

His eyes bored into hers. “Jealous?” he sneered.

“Far from it,” drawled Olivia. She stepped towards him. “I know what you get up to. My sexy spy.”

He watched her as she came and stood in front of him. “Were you bad, James? Was that the hiccup?”

His breath hitched. “You do know I shouldn’t be discussing any aspect of this with you?” he said severely.

She didn’t acknowledge him. She remained solid, eyes smouldering. “Tell me about her.”

“Her who?” he snapped. He rose and went to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a whisky.

“There’s always a girl,” said Olivia, unperturbed. “You need them as much as you need a weapon. It’s OK, James. I want to know.” Her voice was lulling him.

“All right,” he said. He poured her a drink too and handed it over, then cautiously put some distance between them. “There was a girl. Her name was Aliyah. She helped me out.”

Olivia smirked. “Tell me.” She sat down and waited.

James took a deep breath, unsure where this was going. “Her father had been killed in an explosion several months ago. She had very little family left to protect her, so she’d found her way into the protection of a commune of women.”

“Sounds like you hit the jackpot,” said Olivia humourlessly, staring into her glass.

James’ eyes narrowed but he continued. “She was brilliant. Completely going to waste out there. For a moment I thought she might become valuable to us.”

“So you fucked her to make sure,” Olivia said sharply.

James straightened dangerously. He slowly walked towards her; a steady warning. “It became obvious that she lacked the discretion we would have required. Still, she had a certain spirit, not to mention a great deal of information on the people who killed her father. Useful intelligence. And yes, I fucked her.”

“Good boy,” said Olivia, swigging her drink down in one without looking at him.

James glowered at her. “Is this what you wanted to know?” he asked, poised for battle.

Olivia stood, empty glass in hand and met his eyes. “No,” she breathed. “Tell me what you did. To her. I want to know what it’s like when they mean nothing.”

He ground his teeth, uncomfortable. “I’m sure you know. You must have experience of that.”

“I want to hear it from you. This beautiful, exotic girl. What was she like?”

She approached James seductively, running her fingers between his legs and trailing them up his body. He did not react.

“Did she suck you?” she hissed. Her fingers tensed around her glass.

James felt himself tremble with anger. The bitch was getting off on it.

“Yes,” he said nastily, playing along. “I made her. I grabbed her hair and told her to suck me.” He watched as Olivia’s pupil’s dilated.

“Did you fuck her mouth; that pretty face?” continued Olivia as she cupped James’ cheek. She traced his lips with her finger. “Did you bruise her lips? Did she whimper? Did she beg?”

James clenched his jaw. What the hell was she doing?

“Was it rough?” Her voice had an edge to it. Her hand stroked his chest, then slid back down to his groin. She frowned on finding he wasn’t hard. She pressed and rubbed to no avail, her eyes meeting his searchingly. “Did she come screaming your name? Did you come screaming hers?”

In a flash, he grabbed Olivia by the elbows and shook her hard, the glass smashing on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.

She flinched. Her mind went blank.

He shouted in her face. “Yes I slept with her. No it wasn’t violent, it was just a fuck. She murmured everything I needed to know to me in the hour that followed. I took a shower, and when I got out she’d been shot in the head and they’d stolen the camera. Fucking business as usual.”

He let go of her and sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. Her arms throbbed painfully where he’d grabbed her. She tried to shrug it off, regarding him for a moment. Her throat was dry.

“Standard day at the office?” She tried to make light of it.

“Exactly,” he spat.

She’d frozen on the spot. This wasn’t what she’d intended. “James,” she whispered.

“What?” he said sharply.

She couldn’t think of a word to say. Instead, she wandered over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said softly. She grazed his neck lightly with her fingers.

He stood suddenly and she recoiled.

“I’m not in the mood,” he snarled. “I’m going to my place. I thought you of all people would have stayed away from fetishizing what I have to do but I was wrong."

He had disappeared before she could draw breath, the slamming of the door ringing in her ears.

\---

 

She could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her arms. Feeling desperately humbled, she rushed along the hallway to Flat 23. She knocked on the door. She’d been lucky enough to slip through the main entrance when a neighbour was leaving. Her heart was pounding.

“Who is it?” called a voice casually.

“It’s me,” she said, feeling horribly self-conscious.

She heard him approaching the door. Then came a low hiss. “ _Fuck off_.”

“James, let me in,” she said sternly. “Come on. Please.”

Nothing.

“James, open this door now.” She bit her lip, crushingly aware of the lack of authority she had. She wasn’t M, and she wasn’t at home. The shame of being left out in the cold…

The door opened and he peered at her, his eyes cold with malice.

She swallowed, unused to him looking at her in such a way. “I really, really fucked up. I’m sorry. Please let me in.”

He huffed and stood to one side. She shot in quickly before he could shut her out again, totally unprepared for the pain of it tugging at her chest.

The door slammed behind her. “You can come in, but I’m warning you, if you try to play the boss card or even the ex-boss card I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” She dared him, matching his valiance. “I’m not going to tell you off like a naughty school boy if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m not here to play games.”

“Finally,” he muttered. He crossed the room, kicking his case out of the way.

“Oh don’t be such a drama queen,” she chided.

He glared at her and she remembered the feel of his hands on her arms. She must have flinched, because he smirked.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I grabbed you.” It was an utterly insincere remark. He poured a drink and sat down on the sofa, slamming the glass down on the coffee table a little too hard. He switched on the TV and ignored her.  

She approached him slowly. “James, I wasn’t fetishizing it…”

“Bullshit.”

She hung her head. “All right. Perhaps I was. It was a terrible misjudgement and I’m sorry.”

He fumbled with the remote control for a moment before switching the TV off again. “This is who I am,” he began.

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know what you are and what you do and I know it’s different to what we do.”

“World’s apart,” he mumbled. “I’m not saying I only fuck out of duty. It’s not that black and white. We both know that, don’t we?”

She nodded eagerly.

He continued. “But one thing I’m clear on, as should you be, is it _is_ my duty not to get involved. Not up here.”

He tapped his temple. The light was low in the room. She blinked, unsure if she’d seen his lower lip wobble. Her hand tensed, wondering if she was going to have to slap him out of something.

He fixed her with a stare. “Those are my boundaries,” he said, voice edged with anger. “I don’t have them with you. So tread with care, you fucking bitch.”

He turned away, grabbing the tumbler. He took another swig from his glass. She quivered as she let the admonishment wash over her. She’d done this. She’d hurt him. She approached him cautiously, walking around to face him.

His hand was shaking, his face red. She said nothing, just regarded him, hating herself for provoking such pain in him. Very gently, she sat down on the sofa and rested her head on his arm. He let her. She didn't know how else to apologise.

Silence fell between them. 

“I’m sorry,” he eventually mumbled, eyes firmly averted away from her. It was genuine this time.

“So am I,” she said in a gravelly voice. “I only wanted to have a little fun. I hit the wrong button.”

He sighed. “You think you like the monster in the man,” he said. “But you wouldn’t.” He turned to look at her, so boyish now.

She smiled back at him then leaned in to kiss his cheek. “There’s no monster in you, James. That’s what you don’t understand. A monster does not know it’s a monster.”

He frowned. She had a point, he supposed, but he still felt monstrous. “Just don’t pull my strings,” he warned.

It was hard to take it as a serious warning. At that moment he seemed as threatening as a grumpy three year old.

This time she kissed him on the lips. “I won’t,” she lied, knowing full well their relationship was all about pulling each other’s strings. She would endeavour to avoid that particular string, however. “I’ll be very gentle.”

“If you’ll still have me,” he croaked.

“Of course I will,” she said evenly. “Now will you come home?”

He looked mournfully at her. “No. Not tonight. I need my own territory for a bit.”

“OK,” she said, voice heavy. She stood, ready to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” he said. “I just don’t feel like running back to you right now. You want me, you know where I am.” He sat back, legs outstretched on the table, and switched the TV back on.

She sighed. Bloody man. But he had a point. They had spent most of the time in her house. She calmly removed her coat and sat back down next to him. He tried to appear nonchalant as she did so. His mouth quirked up in a smile as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I hate Top Gear,” she said.

“Good,” he replied harshly, turning up the volume. He smirked as he pulled his arm free before putting it around her instead.

She cuddled up against him. They were OK now.


	2. Chapter 2

“Allow me to make it up to you,” she said. It was late and they were both tired. He studied her warily. “No tricks,” she promised.

He allowed her to lead him by the hand to his bedroom. She took in the sparseness of his room; mostly a utilitarian set up with one or two cathected items. A framed poster she couldn’t identify. A tatty photo album she remembered saving when she thought he was dead. She hadn’t flicked through it. It was private. And she hadn’t given up on him yet.

She ushered him to the bed. “Sit down,” she said softly. He did so, still watching her closely. Her heart ached as she realised she’d broken his trust.

She stood between his legs and tenderly took his face in her hands. She kissed his left temple. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She kissed him again, now on the cheek. Her thumb caressed his other cheek.

His eyes drifted closed as she spoke, allowing her to pet him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to turn your life’s work into a game.” More soft kisses went to his forehead, his chin, his crown. All the while she stroked him sweetly. “I didn’t mean to make light of what you have to do.”

Her voice cracked – not unusual for her, but it sounded more laden than normal. One of his hands covered hers and squeezed warmly. She paused in her ministrations, her breathing laboured. “I’m so sorry, James.”

He opened his eyes. Hers were watery as she gazed at him. He remained stern. “I don’t know what I am to you,” he rasped. “But I won’t be that. Not for you.”

She brushed his hair back. “I don’t really want you to do those things to me,” she said. She shut her eyes and shuddered. “It was just a stupid fantasy.”

“Easier to turn it into a fantasy than accept that it’s real?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but a shadow loomed in hers.

James prompted further. “Because it is real. For both of us. This is the work that I have to do.”

“Screwing for Queen and country,” she gave a hollow laugh.

“Not always,” he said simply. “I love my job. There are perks. But nothing like this.”

He manoeuvred her out from between his legs and closed them before pulling her in so she was straddling his lap. He held her tight.

“Nothing like this,” he repeated fondly.

“You make me feel about 17,” she said, trying not to think about the possibility of cramp.

“Same here.”

Her eyes shone. She cupped his face again and kissed him firmly on the lips, then leant back and smiled warmly.

He studied her. “Tell me about the fantasy. Is it real? Or were you just deflecting? Didn’t want me to see that my behaviour was upsetting you?”

“Don’t be so insightful, James. It doesn’t suit you.”

He caught her wrist and looked at her warningly. “Olivia,” he admonished. “You’re the bloody queen of evasion.”

She hung her head bashfully. “Sorry. Yes I expect that’s it.”

He sighed. “So you don’t actually get off on the idea of me fucking around?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said with a crooked smile. “But there are ideas, and there is reality. I’m afraid I got the two confused.”

“Yes you did,” he said, patting her bottom.

Her eyes narrowed. “Not now, James. You’re making the same mistake.”

He giggled cheekily, and she had to laugh as well. They fell spontaneously into a warm kiss.

When he broke it off, he forced eye contact with her, running his hands along her thighs. “Are you going to make it up to me, then?”

A sly smile. “Yes, James. I am,” she said, sincerity thick in her voice.

She set about unbuttoning his shirt. He didn’t help or lift a finger to undress her. He just let her attend to him, watching her face as she did so. She undressed him silently, taking care with the expensive clothing.

She began to remove her own, and he tentatively reached out. She imagined it was his manners, sensing what he really wanted. She took his outstretched hand and kissed it, then placed it by his side. “It’s all right,” she breathed. “You don’t have to.”

He smiled warmly, and she knew she’d got it right. She glimpsed the exhaustion in his eyes; some sadness and some wonder. She stripped efficiently, but kept her eyes on his where she could. He stared at her, lying back on the bed. His cock was hard as he lazily fondled his balls, still enraptured by Olivia’s every movement.

She crawled forward and covered his body with her own. He remained passive, but there was clear fire behind his eyes as he let her come to him. She explored his whole body with her lips and tongue, teasing skin and flesh she’d only snatched at greedily before. He was quiet but for soft gasps; the occasional moan indicating she’d found a sweet spot hitherto unnoticed. His eyes would light up, but he didn’t ask for more, nor grab at her.

She sat back to appreciate him, his fine physical form laid out for her to see. His cock was rigid and leaking against his stomach. She shifted down and swirled her tongue over the tip, grinning with delight when he arched off the bed. She licked once more and shot a look at him.

She felt she was bedding a virgin. His lips were swollen, his pupils blown, yet still he made no move to touch her, to take her. Nevertheless his hips flexed anxiously. He wanted her. He wanted her to take him.

She straddled him once more and ran her fingers along her sex with a moan, causing him to grunt with appreciation. She parted her wet lips and steadily impaled herself on him. They groaned together.

She wriggled as she adjusted to the sensation of him hard inside her. It felt different somehow. She blinked at him. This wasn’t the monster. This was definitely the man. She moved, starting to ride him.

He was pure nerves, panting, gasping. She’d worked him up a little too much, she realised. She took it gently, but he was watching her with such adoration, such tenderness. How could such sweetness be so sexy, she pondered. She took his hand from her hip and placed it on her breast. “It’s all right,” she said. “You can touch.” The gesture elicited pure ecstasy from James. She leaned into him, kissing him on the lips, allowing him the leverage to thrust up into her as she stroked his face. He did so steadily, his dry murmurs escalating. He was close. She sat back, canting her hips, sliding up and down his shaft. He was trembling beneath her.

His hands tensed, moving to grip her hips. He came suddenly with a soft cry, followed by a succession of endearing gasps. He shuddered and squirmed through the aftershocks for several long seconds.

It was breathtaking. She felt a rush of pure affection. Her own warm arousal pooled and stilled inside her. It would keep. She dismounted carefully and lay beside him, propping herself up on pillows. He was panting, eyes closed, face in an expression of blissful loss.

His breathing calmed and he rolled into her, resting his head on her breast. She cradled him.

“Goodnight, James,” she whispered, kissing his forehead again.

He made a little noise, his mouth quirking up slightly, and was soundly asleep.

 

The light seemed odd to her. She peered at the blinds. They weren’t her blinds. She blinked. It had been some time since she’d woken up in a strange bed. She felt quite devilish as she disentangled herself from James and padded into the bathroom to relieve herself.

Washing her hands, she caught sight of her reflection. It jerked her out of her pleasant sleepy bubble. The woman staring back at her was not the woman she felt like right now. She glanced about the bathroom; a man’s bathroom. Soap, shaving cream, toothpaste. A cabinet full of medicine. No face cream. No makeup. No clean underwear. Her pale wrinkled face appeared to snarl back at her. And then her whole body glared, being as she was completely naked.

“Terrible lighting,” she muttered, as if she wasn’t a naked post-coital septuagenarian with a few extra pounds. She dried her hands, frowning curiously at the marks on her arms. What were they?

She looked back in the mirror. Three black marks tainting her loose, white skin; two bruises on one arm, one on the other. And pink fingerprints, from where he’d grabbed her. It sent a chill through her. It wasn’t that he was dangerous. It was that she was vulnerable. She never used to bruise like that. She ran her fingers over the abused flesh. Was this what she'd fantasised about? The danger? The hell it was. She felt sick. 

She huffed, wishing she’d never gone into the bathroom, and walked back into the bedroom. He was still snoozing. She went to slip back under the covers, but stopped. Opposite the bed, the wardrobe had mirrored panels. There she was again. Apparently she wasn’t just a terrible vision in the bathroom.

She looked back to James. He was sleeping like a baby, his face beautiful and innocent. She knew he wasn’t, but with his eyes closed, there was nothing to contradict his youthful features. She felt wretchedly exposed and searched for her clothing, pulling everything on urgently. She ruffled her hair. She would just sit back down on the bed and wait for him to wake up, she decided.

Just then, he murmured in his sleep. “M,” he said. She smiled. But immediately she was reminded of something. Yes – he said that the other night, when he came. “ _M_ ,” he’d said, in the throes of passion. Was she still M to him now? Then another memory washed over her. “ _Oh Christ_ ,” she remembered thinking. “ _He’s in love_.” He’d growled at her when she’d been flippant about her death.

And now how tender he’d become. She’d been pushing him and pushing him to be her dangerous man. A sweet distraction. A deadly addiction. And all this time he’d been falling in love.

He rolled over in bed, still asleep, now sweeter than ever. She froze, suddenly keen that he shouldn’t wake. _What was she doing?_ This man had so much life left to live. He wasn’t far off the retirement age for a OO. He could go anywhere, do anything; people to meet, a family of his own not out of the question. And he was here, with her. An old woman. _What was she doing?_

Was it being in a different place, with different energy? His turf? Was this why she was having a revelation? Away from the cocoon of her own home, she couldn’t pretend anymore. _What was she doing?_

She felt as though the room would crash in on her. But this was James Bond. James Bond was a spook. A hired killer. A hero. A villain. A remarkable boy she’d helped fashion to become something more than just another orphan. He’d fucked his way around every country and assignment that came his way. And she’d wanted a taste of it. Well she had. She’d tasted him. She’d assumed he’d be long gone, either dead or pretending to be. _What had she done?_

She felt the tears on her face before she realised she was crying. She backed away from the bed. He was so peaceful. And she was going to break his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

She could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears, the panic like bile in her throat. She had to get out. The adrenaline took her back years; everything at stake. A familiar stealth came back to her. Expertly, she gathered her coat and bag and disappeared from the flat.

James did not stir.

\---

She walked out into the main street. The bright sun dazzled her, as if the universe itself had her under a spotlight of scrutiny. She turned her collar to the world, aware of her rumpled state and what it must be indicating to the trained eye.

Her heart still pounded as she walked. Inside she was sprinting, but trained to be conspicuous she exuded calm. Still the sunlight followed her.

She felt ancient and young all at once. Here she was, creeping away on the wrong side of the dawn, stealing into the morning after having sex with a boy. She never could shake the idea that people could tell by looking at her. At least now, her age might conceal that possibility, and she was more likely to be dismissed as having dementia. She smiled to herself as she reached the street corner and glanced about for a taxi. So there were advantages to being old.  

As she waited, the breeze tickled her face. The air felt fresh and rang in her ears. She was suddenly alive. She shivered with the realisation. She looked up at the surrounding buildings: the architecture of London. Her London; staying strong for her. Above her, blue sky streamed between the tops of Georgian buildings, houses and churches. It was always a surprise when London was sunny. It propelled the city from mere greatness to the absolute centre of the Universe. There could be no other kingdom.

There was an odd quiet. The morning rush hour itself seemed to hold its breath. She was alone. She shivered again, this time from a strange chill.

She turned around, examining the street she’d walked. Had he followed her?

There was no sign of him. And then, a taxi; orange light illuminated. The light in her eyes dimmed and she hailed the cab. The moment was over.

\---

 

She announced her address and sat back to enjoy the ride home, the cab hurtling happily around the side roads. Curious, she thought. She must be hungry. Her stomach was fluttering angrily. The cab took a corner and a wave of nausea hit her. She gripped the door handle for support, her knuckles pure white.

It wasn’t far. She breathed deeply as she told herself she would not need to ask the driver to pull over. Another surge and she put her hand over her mouth. Dear god. He’d assume she was hungover. Her stomach burned, her mouth parched. She focussed on her breathing, clutching onto the seat and door, and the sensation plateaued. But she felt weaker with every few hundred feet that she travelled, her head heavy.

She almost fell getting out of the taxi. She’d thrown a 20 pound note at the cheerful cabbie and swung out of the door. He pulled away and she stood outside her house, quite faint, nervous of making a sudden move. The fresh air did something for her and she inhaled steadily, her wobbly legs taking the steps to her front door.

Inside, her home greeted her. It should have been something familiar; something comforting, but it wasn’t. She trod further in, hearing the sound of the floor boards under the carpet. A familiar sound. She blinked at the dining room table. She’d bought that with Jeremy. A familiar object. But as her eyes darted around the room, the scene appeared different to her. It was like walking into someone else’s home, that just happened to have her things in it.

Tears pricked her eyes. What was happening today?

Another swell of sickness forced her into the garden. She pulled the patio doors open and sat shakily on the step, her head in her hands. She wanted to cry, but her body felt too limp even for that. Was she just tired?

She brushed her hot forehead with a trembling hand as her vision focussed on something in front of her. The metal bin. It was blackened on the inside from when she’d burned her diary. She examined it closer. A brown sludge was caked to the bottom; the result of rain water and pulp. She remembered that night, how she’d got it all out and burned it all down. Not a trace. Cleansed. Except she wasn’t. It was still there, no matter how hard she’d tried to expunge it.

“ _Your fire will keep you alive. You need that. Never let anyone put it out_.”

Abruptly, her father’s words hit home. _Alive._ Forever, she’d assumed he simply meant not dead. Not killed. She still had a pulse, so she was alive. But now, as she sat on the garden step, a stranger in her own home, it occurred to her he meant more than that. He meant her spirit. The spirit she’d been running from for countless years now. The spirit she’d locked in a glass cabinet so she could keep her country safe; from terrorists, from her. She was the one who’d put it out. 

She stood as if in a trance. She found herself ambling back inside the house, scanning her home again. Her hand came to rest on the back of a chair as she leaned on it for support. It felt different beneath her skin. Looking down, she noticed there was a jacked draped over the chair. Her fingers ran over the soft leather. James’ jacket. Her heart leapt, energy buzzing in her veins.

She picked it up. It was suddenly the only thing in the room that felt right. She scooped it up, handling it fondly, and bringing it up to her face to inhale his scent. _James._

 


	4. Chapter 4

He knew something was wrong before he even woke up. He was James Bond. He knew when he was alone in a room. 

He didn't want to move. He wanted only for every single moment from the night before to remain with him. But her touches and her warm breath started to fade like clouds into a sunset. His skin prickled as his waking senses sharpened. 

He opened his eyes slowly; dread dawning on him. She was gone. Such was the nightmare. Idly he wondered if his heart would stop of its own accord, but alarm soon gave way to a shrewd clarity. He sat up, sucking on the bitter taste in his mouth. In such nightmares, one is powerless. But this was day, and he was wide awake. His mind focussed effortlessly. 

_So she'd run. Now why would she do that?_

He smiled.

\--- 

 

Ironically, the one thing in her home providing her with the familiarity she so craved wasn't even hers. His scent lingered on the jacket and she buried her face in it, breathing it in like oxygen.

She didn’t notice the figure appear in the back doorway behind her; a shadow against the bright light of the garden.

"Another one of your kinks?" James asked, his voice cutting across the space.

She jumped and spun around. There he was: Infuriatingly beautiful, backlit by the sun. His golden hair glowed while his blue eyes were dark. A misguided angel. His clothes hung on him awkwardly. He’d clearly thrown on what he could find and followed her. Chased her. _Mary had a little lamb._

He stepped further inside the house, cautiously surveying her. He saw tears in her eyes. She looked wild, tired, drawn. Just as he suspected, something had happened to her. Something had given way. Something had reached her core. Was it him?

She had frozen on the spot. "I'm too old for you," she stammered, not letting go of his coat.

"No you're not," he said quickly.

"Yes I am," she shuddered into tears. "James, we can’t. You deserve more.”

“What’s changed?” he hissed. “Last night was the best night of my life. I felt like you were finally with me.”

“I can’t be,” she croaked.

He inched towards her, eyes narrowing. “It scared you, didn’t it? What you felt? Not M anymore. Not anyone else but you. Am I right?”

She shook her head, mouthing a word that came out as a sob. “No! I’m no good!” she cried. “I'm horrible. Wicked old witch. Get out, James! Get out while you can!"

She threw his jacket at him. It slid along the floor and he dodged it as he dashed towards her.

"Go!" she screamed, covering her face with her hands and shrinking away.

He ignored her, taking her by the shoulders.

She recoiled from his touch. "Go! Get out!" She flailed, aimlessly hitting at him. He barely flinched at the blows, simply wrapping his arms around her, a solid support.

No longer could she fight. Everything she was crashed in at once, her defences crumbling. She cried with despair, her strength no match for his, feeling her legs give way as her anguish consumed her.

Somewhere in the crack of her voice, he thought he heard her heart break. They sank to the floor together in a tangle of limbs, James cushioning her with everything he had.

She wept and wept, her body still weakening until her arms fell limp, still locked in his embrace.

\---

Long moments passed. 

“I’m not letting go of you,” he hummed softly in her ear, rocking her steadily as she sobbed. “There’s nothing wrong with you, just as you are.”

Her voice was thin. “You don’t know what I’ve done, what I am.” Her head flopped against him, her cries now shuddering breaths.

“Yes I do,” he breathed, leaning his head against hers. “I know every inch of you. You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure of. You think I only like the bitch in you. The fighter. The challenge. Because if I should ever see you as a real woman, how could you possibly stand up to the kind of woman James Bond would want?”

She frowned, breathing hard against him. He felt her tense.

“One virtue of spending time with women, I do know how they think, mostly. I may not always treat them very well, but I do know them. And I know you. You’re the greatest of them all.”

She huffed a cold laugh. “James,” she intoned throatily. “I’m just an old woman. I’m not the hero you think I am.”

“Neither am I,” he said harshly. “Neither of us is a hero. Neither of us is innocent. We’ve seen the best and the worst of each other. And we love each other.” He let it hang in the air, cradling her close.

The thought swirled in her mind that she ought to contradict him, but she couldn’t. Was he right? She felt an unworldly stillness spread inside her. She remained silent, feeling like a butterfly opening its fragile wings. 

He kissed her head. “Listen to me. Yes, I love you. If you think you’re scared by that, imagine how I feel. You love me too. I know you do. I know it scares you. But if you love me, do one thing for me. Don’t walk away from this. I can take death after death, fate robbing me of friends, lovers, family. But don't choose to leave me. Certainly not because you're having an 'old' day.”

It was all she could do to keep breathing; exhaustion and elation possessing her. His words pierced her skin.

He still rocked her gently.

“You'll go one day. We both know that. I never expected to outlive you, despite your age.” He gave her a squeeze as he said it; a smile in his voice, and her heart fluttered. “But now it looks like I might. I seem to have made it through the life expectancy of a 00 without too much difficulty. So please, Olli, don't leave until you have to. And I will do my damnest to give the same to you. How about we both just stay alive, and together? The two don't have to be mutually exclusive.” 

“Alive,” she whispered. “I want to stay alive.”

He swallowed. “Then do,” he said simply. “With me.”

She felt her will returning, and shifted so she could sit up, supporting her own weight. She looked him in the eye. “Look at me, James. This is serious. You’re at a point where you could start your life over.”

“I start my life over all the time. Resurrection is my hobby.”

She was too drained to laugh, but her eyes twinkled. “You deserve a little more than watching me wither and die.”

“You’re not withering and dying, Olivia Mansfield.” He said it sternly and she felt like a schoolgirl. He smirked at her reaction. “You’re just having a bad day.”

She yielded to that. She lowered her head again, summoning courage. “You need to know something,” she said evenly. James tensed. “Tiago,” she began. “We did have an affair when I was in Hong Kong.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. His were unreadable, but she wanted to say it as honestly as possible.

“A full love affair,” she continued. “He was something I needed to get out of my system. I acted selfishly, and it went about as badly as it could have done. There I've told you. You weren't the first agent I crossed a line with. I thought you should know."

She braced herself. Would he yell? Would he hit her? Would he just leave? He was looking at her steadily.

“I know," he said. “I worked it out. Thought you’d tell me when you were ready.” She stared at him with incredulity. He noticed and smiled softly. “That’s what you get for writing me off as not insightful.”

She realised her mouth had fallen open and quickly closed it, hanging her head with resignation. “Christ, I’ve been a fool,” she said.

“You’ve been a vivid pain in the arse,” stated James, shifting so his back was supported by the oak sideboard. “Did you really think I, of all people, would judge you for a sexual indiscretion?”

“It was hardly an indiscretion, James,” she blurted. “It was a bloody apocalypse.”

He stroked her hair soothingly. “It shouldn’t have been,” he said kindly. “Though I can appreciate how having a heart broken by you might lead to untold vengeance and destruction.”

“That’s not funny,” she muttered.

“No it isn’t,” he agreed. “It’s a terrible truth that you have to live with. But I watched you, when that madman returned. How he tore your world apart. You were never braver, even though I’ve never seen you so scared. I hope I’m that ferocious when I’m your age.”

Her eyes lit up with indignation and he smiled cheekily at her. There she was. The woman he loved.

She pursed her lips. “You just focus on getting to my age,” she warned.

She looked away from his gaze as an undefinable sadness encroached. She fidgeted with her hands. “James,” she said softly. “I’m still not sure this is how you should be spending your life. Mine’s almost over. Yours isn’t.” She put her hand on his knee. “Think of all the things you could have. Your own family. A slice of normality for once. I can’t provide you with either of those things.”

“I don’t want normality,” he said huskily. “I want you.”

She shook her head miserably. “I will age you before your time.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You make me feel young. Besides, compared to the life I’ve known, you’re my greatest hope for normality. Don’t you see that?”

She had to admit it made sense. She’d never seen herself as a force for stability. But for James, perhaps she was. Perhaps she did have something to offer him.

“All right then,” she croaked. “Let’s say I am. Then you’ll have to lose me. Another loss, James. I want to spare you that.”

“You can’t,” James said earnestly. “I either lose you now, or I lose you later. I’d rather lose you to natural causes than your neurosis.”

She glared at him.

He smirked back. “Has it not occurred to you that you may live another 20 years? And I may not? Not because I’m killed in action, but because I get hit by a bus, or some other random shit. Bird flu, even. You know better than most how precious and precarious life is. You think I could better deal you? You’re the only true family I’ve ever known. How could I be anywhere else?”

She fought back tears as she realised she wanted to give him the world. "You could leave the secret services, and me, forever. Find inside you a man you’ve never had a chance to be.”

"Not while you're alive," he said. "I can't live my life knowing you're somewhere on the planet, getting on without me." Her breath hitched as she listened. “The world wouldn't be the world without you. No one could know me like you do. I may have to come to terms with that one day. But please. Not yet.”

Her heart almost stopped when she noticed. Tears were rolling down his face. “Oh, James,” she intoned, kneeling up and pressing her palm to his face. 

He gulped. “I’m not the boy you once knew, _M_.” He said it deliberately. “Ms Mansfield. _Olli._ I’m a different man now. Taking my ego out of the equation. Though not dispassionately.”

She caressed his face. She doubted she could have been as brave. Waking up to find himself abandoned by his lover. Fighting for her. Laying himself bare, staking everything on a single throw of the dice. It was true. The damage was done. They felt what they felt. Walking away wouldn’t fix that.

“I don't know what this is,” she said, struggling for words.

He shrugged. “Neither do I. Fuck it.”

He was slumping, exhausted himself now. She shuffled up next to him. “Perhaps we do deserve each other,” she said. “Aren’t we a pair...”

“Whatever we are, we are certainly a pair,” he said.

Just like that, she realised he was right. Of course he was right. Overwhelmed by tenderness, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "What have I done to deserve this?" she asked fondly.

He frowned and looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? You think you’re some sort of war criminal, waiting to be tried for crimes against humanity. So why should anything good happen to you.”

“Not quite, James,” she said. “Not quite so dramatic. Yes, I got my hands dirty. Yes, despite my maxim, I do have some regrets. I just never expected that something like this would be waiting for me. Not at this stage.”

He grinned. “You were expecting bingo, not bonking?”

She sighed with a reluctant laugh, shaking her head. “I preferred the way I put it, thank you very much.”

He giggled, enjoying her indignation, as well as the pink flush in her cheeks. “You put the hours in. You deserve a reward. And not just this stupid dame-hood.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I forgot I was a dame. I’m not acting like one, am I?”

“I don’t know,” answered James. “You’re the only damn dame I know.”

The silence that followed pushed at them. The floor was becoming uncomfortable. They would need to move soon, and still so much was unsaid. No more time for joking.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked. His heart hammered as he did so. He couldn't quite look at her. This was it. 

She gazed at him solemnly, the air thick between them. “Yes,” she breathed. She held his hand tight in hers. At last, he dared to look. Her eyes glimmered with a radiant truth; an almost dangerous light. As did his. He met her lips in a deep and gentle kiss. They were both trembling when they parted. Their heads tilted together.

Her voice was hoarse. “We were born to run, weren't we, James? Can either of us handle this?"

His eyes glistened. He gave an honest shrug. "We can try." 

She looked at him in wonder. “A second chance,” she murmured wistfully. It made him break into a broad smile. As the tension dissipated, they became aware of their clumsy position on her carpet and the rumbling of their stomachs. It was safe to be in their bodies again.

In his own time, he got to his feet, looking down at her fondly. “I know we're not neat and tidy, or easy, or straight forward. I know we both have demons to fight. I know it means being domestic. Boring, even. I’m actually quite excited about that. But I think we can handle that.”

He gave her a warm smile, then frowned as a thought stuck him. “Having said that, I'm not going shopping with you to Ikea anytime soon.”

She laughed at that. “Well, we all have our boundaries,” she said, grinning. She moved to get up, then stopped as she took a good look at him. He was still gazing at her, devotion coming off him in waves. She fixed him with a stare. “I love you too, James. I really do.” Her tone was low and tender.

He froze, his eyes penetrating hers searchingly. Yes. They’d both said it now.

She tried to stand, failing inelegantly due to stiffness, and he helped her to her feet. “See what you’re getting yourself into…” she mumbled, hobbling and rubbing her numb leg.

“That happens to everyone,” he chided, holding onto her. Their eyes locked once more.

One brilliant moment.

“So you’re my reward are you?” she asked sweetly.

He melted into an affirming, impish grin.

Her eyes filled with love. “Very well,” she said.

And just like that, she was in a relationship with James Bond.


End file.
